


His

by Sssyzygy1



Category: The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sheldon and Amy, the big bang theory - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24824185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sssyzygy1/pseuds/Sssyzygy1
Summary: ONE-SHOT  Shamy / Sheldon x Amy  the Big Bang TheorySheldon puzzles over his new experience with touch and his relationship with Amy.  In other words, my take on how Sheldon feels about being Amy’s “experiment”.I do not own and have not created any themes or characters of TBBT
Relationships: Sheldon/Amy - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	His

He had never liked to be touched. As long as he could remember- which was nearly every day of his entire life as he has an eidetic memory- he had been uncomfortable with others around him. His best friends knew not to even casually suggest a high-five. He avoided handshakes unless absolutely necessary for professional reasons alone. Even when his family would hug him, save his mother and Meemaw, he could barely tolerate it. Just the brief notion of intimacy in any form made his brow and lips wrinkle in distaste.

He has never really been concerned as to why it bothered him to be touched. He never wondered if his germ phobia was the root cause or if it was something deeper and further ingrained into his makeup. It didn't matter why, not really, and any rambling of thought in that direction was, in fact, wasted thought that could, instead, be devoted to unraveling the mysteries of the universe. No one, and nothing, had ever tempted him to reconsider his decision to avoid human contact. It didn't reason that he should be uncomfortable just for convention.

But then something happened he did not expect: an experiment of sorts, as it were.

His well-disciplined, well-ordered, and well-controlled world simply slipped on its perfectly balanced axis. Her hand had reached out so very casually, so very slowly and deliberately. Gentle fingers ensconced his, and something monumental shifted. The soft heat lit up his world like a bomb of sensation. He expected to recoil, but instead, he found his eyes closing involuntarily- just for the barest of seconds. Color exploded. When he was able to regain any semblance of thought, he sought her face, looking for some answer, some clue, as to why his brain- never quiet- had ceased to function. Warmth, and something more he could not name, spread through each nerve-ending.

He felt electrified. She was so much more than he ever imagined her to be. As such, he was more than happy to be her experiment.

Other women had touched him, of course. He was brilliant, and with his bold azure eyes and dark hair, he was, as they say, a catch. He did not underplay his attractiveness and never felt insecure in that regard. However, he felt no need to riddle his life with the baser urges that ruled the majority of his friends and colleagues.

He had, on occasion, found himself the victim of, well, assault, as it were. Women had casually touched him: his arm, his hands, his feet. He had been hugged more often than he would prefer, by women and by men alike. A woman- drunk, though hardly an excuse!-had kissed him full on the lips. Yes, he cringed each time. He had recoiled from them all in horror. His eyes would spring open in terror and revulsion and he would try to drown out the panic and step away. Yes, each experience had been nothing short of hellacious.

But with her, he stayed in the moment. Instead of fear and mindless panic, he voluntarily held on just a bit longer, almost enjoying the feeling. Reaching for the light and heat and yes, that something more, he accepted all that she had to give. What was this little extra shiver? Could it be love? So soon? So unexpectedly? No, no he didn't believe in love. Love was just a social construct or a psychological tool to justify the act of coitus. No, he was simply in awe of her beautiful mind. He wasn't attracted to her beautiful face. That was illogical on such a short acquaintance.

He slid those thoughts aside as she let go of his hand. "Nothing, never-mind," she had said. Nothing? How could that myriad of feelings be nothing?! Maybe for her that had all been average? He had so little experience with emotions, perhaps those sensations were commonplace. Or, perhaps she truly was truly unmoved. She was logical. Maybe she had greater control over her physiological responses than he did? That seemed impossible. Ultimately, it didn't matter. This was all probably the result of happenstance anyway. He was happy to keep living his ordered existence. Their relationship could return to a safe, comfortable affinity. They were friends and there was no need to complicate matters.

She was his only intellectual equal. This was true and real. He had spent his life in pursuit of knowledge and had wandered for many years, alone in that pursuit. An intellectual companion perhaps? Yes, this was more than enough. He left those silly memories and his hindbrain feelings outside on that sidewalk. Their continued association would excite and challenge them. She was integral to his happiness, this he already knew, but he need not admit such a weakness.

xxxxxx

There it was again, that perplexing tingle in each cell: radiating, penetrating each extremity. The source? Her lips: soft, supple, delicate upon his own. And again, his eyes closed. And there was that kaleidoscope of color, echoing the deep hues of his heart. He should pull away. Shouldn't he pull away? What was this feeling? Not fear. Not the common, expected revulsion. No. This was a yet unnamed emotion. Could this be desire? He was entranced. He was unable and unwilling to pull away. No, instead he shifted forward, just barely, in an attempt to prolong this temporary and temporal euphoria. His body urged him to demand more, to feel more, to take more, to want more, to need more. He welcomed the storm. And then she was gone again. Fascinating.

Late that night, as sleep eluded him, he relived each second. Like the atoms and equations he moved with his mind, the scenes and reels of the evening played like a movie, in perfect clarity. Each breath, the taste of cherry vodka, the hinting smell of lavender, and that feel of her lips…. The ethereal evanescence was his alone to linger over in the deepest recesses of his mind. He felt something click into place deep within: He could envision himself laid bare and naked, kneeling, his heart bleeding and beating in his raised hands; an offering of all that he was, is, and ever will be.

But when morning came, alas, no: he could not revel in this longing. He could not embrace her with everything he was- not now- certainly not when her memory failed to recall anything more than a brief recollection of their time together. He placed this deep need high upon a shelf. He would not share himself with her, not then, not ever. He could barely believe the power she had over his thoughts. He could not continue this charade. This was no who he was! He was no hippy, he was a man of science! He would reset that moment, both to save her the uncomfortable embarrassment and to save him the acknowledgment that something-something that shook him as hard as an earthquake - could be forgotten and lost in a haze of alcohol. He pretended not to feel that slight ache within his chest. Their relationship of the mind was enough. It had to be enough. He never needed anyone.

xxxxxxx

Why did she care what those troglodytes did? Penny and Bernadette clearly had no taste if they purposefully left this mesmerizing, perfect creature behind. Her opinion and knowledge were certainly more valuable than theirs! He was outraged. Each would get a strike! How could they have hurt her? She was so superior in every way. Why did she feel so inferior when she was the very center of his world? She sat before him, devastated by their carelessness. He could see the evidence of her desolation on her reddened cheeks as easily as he could see the sorrow in her downcast eyes. He wanted to reach out and catch the lone tear left clinging to her dark eyelash.

She was saying something? What was that? She was proposing what? Concentrate for heaven's sake! Contact? Human contact for comfort? Kissing? Uh-oh: no more kissing! He could barely keep himself from dwelling on that last kiss. No, he could not permit another kiss to short circuit his finest commodity. That instance was still interrupting his work! Love-making? But they weren't married! Not even dating! He couldn't make love to her! Could he? No, no, no. What's this? Cuddling? That would be acceptable. It couldn't be as dangerous as the other options. He adjusted himself into the couch cushion. She slipped into his arms. Had he said this was safe? He couldn't have been more wrong.

He immediately became overwhelmed with heat and need. He held her, gently. Her body lay against his. He could feel each curve sit snuggly against his side. Instead of savoring the feel of her, he concentrated instead on simply breathing. He felt lightheaded and slightly dizzy. He had to ignore the overwhelming desire to nuzzle her hair. The scent of lavender invaded his senses. He felt his eyes drift close of their own accord… Again. It's almost as if he closed his eyes to enhance the moment and sear it into his memory. He was a prisoner to her desires, and yes, to his own desires as well.

He would admonish Howard and Leonard. They could not allow their women to hurt his woman. His woman? No, that was not correct. She didn't belong to him, even if deep down, he wanted her, most desperately. More, he wanted to be hers. Part of him wondered briefly if he didn't already belong to her. After all, wasn't his life greatly improved by her mere presence? With her, he was accepted. With her, his heart was safe. With her, his body came alive. That was all fact. He could not deny fact. Could he?

xxxxxx

What is this? What is happening? Illogical! Irrational! She accepted a date with Stuart?! Not once, but twice? Why? For what purpose? Surely her needs could not be met with his inferiority? Sharing a latte? He rolled his eyes at the mere thought of such a cloyingly unconventional, unoriginal date.

Stuart did not deserve her: not her intellect, not her gleaming emerald eyes, not her sassy, devilish, cheeky smile. No, she was everything, and Stuart was nothing. She was not for him! She couldn't be with anyone like Stuart. She couldn't be with anyone else at all! She was his vixen! Only him! She must be his!

A decision once made was like a bullet shot from a gun. His feet moved of their own accord. He would declare himself. He stormed into the darkened theater to lay claim to what his heart has known from that first moment: she was his everything. She was his love, his one and only.

Love, the deepest and most abiding love did exist after all. This, too, was fact. And that love existed in her. He knew it then, as sure as he knew the 1000th place of Pi. As the knowledge grew and expanded inside him, he offered her his partnership, he offered her himself, fully and without reserve. There it was, that bleeding heart, tossed at her feet. Terrified, he asked her to be his and his alone.

At her simple response, her acceptance of all that he was, his eyes lightly closed, but his heart saw and felt everything. She was his.

His Amy, always.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic. Please review!  
> Love our community. Should I do more stories ?


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